Sober Moment 7.17.09: Fun with Facebook

So my friend Loosefur lives in HK (Hell's Kitchen... a very popular gay area in NYC). He has a share in the Fire Island Pines (FiPi... a share basically means you pay 4 [or 5] figures for a certain amount of weekends in a house with other people). He doesn't like leaving HK unless it's to go to FiPi (you should have seen him kicking and screaming when Calipornia and I made him take the subway to Flatiron last night!). We call this type of gay HK2FiPi.

In other news, TTT claims to be a top. Yet, she likes TSWBs (Tall Skinny White Boys... notorious for their e n d o w m e n t).

So imagine my sheer delight when I saw this rapid-fire hilarity on my Facebook feed:

Click to enlarge.

Apparently, this Dana is a friend of Loosefur's, so their not fucking. But she's happy that her friend is moving to a place where she wouldn't ever venture. Nice!

And we have Bottomless Pitt to thank for that final gem. 

Additionally, Loosefur and I had the following exchange (with him in blue and me in white). For those of you not in NYC, HX is (was) 1 of 2 "fag rags" in NYC that's mostly used to find out what's going on at the bars each night of the week. They also have info about restaurants, articles, pictures from the Scene, and ads for "massage therapists".

Yeah, she's single.

Click here to check out more sober Facebook fun.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

Sin, like Sin City!

My father's side of the family usually has some kind of get together for the 4th of July. It started as some great-great grandfather's birthday celebration (many slaves and emancipated blacks didn't have records of their birthdays, so they often claimed the 4th as theirs). This year, my grandmother was turning 80. Not that she was a slave; we were just celebrating a week early.

Anyway, my uncle had a cookout the afternoon before, so my grandmother, her sisters, and most of their ([great] grand) children came out to my semi-famous uncle's house on Long Island.

My semi-famous uncle's son, Tom (ridiculously rich lawyer, divorced, 2 kids, player), showed up with his trademark accessory: an Asian woman. I saw her mile of cleavage and thought she was his ex from when I was in college. She was wearing a bikini top (the kind that ties at your neck) under a sundress, and the perfect perkiness of her boobs made me question their authenticity.

She smiled and introduced herself as "Sin, like Sin City!" in the cutest accent. I prepared to be entertained. When my grandma came out, Tom introduced her simply as "Sin", to which she quickly added, "Like Sin City!" my grandma's response: a pricelessly judgemental "Oh." Did I mention that my grandma's an ordained Christian Science minister? Yeah.

Tom's older sister made more of an effort to be friendly: "Sin, do you drink?"

"Yeah! I drink a LOT!"

"Well... I don't drink a lot, but I drink really fast! Let's get you something to sip on!"

You know I had to follow that convo.

Tom's step mother is the sweetest "may God's blessings be upon you" type chrisian woman ever. All her and my semi-famous uncle's trips to the Caribbean and Europe and Africa are "wonderful blessings" and "God's good graces!"

"Oh, is this Cynthia?! Welcome!"

"Oh, no. My name is Sin."

Tom's step mom paused. "Is that short for something?"

"No, Sin is my name." Sin turned around and pulled her hair to the side to reveal a SIN tattoo in red gothic print.

Uncomfortably laughing in utter shock. "Who named you SIN?!"

"My parents. I was born on Halloween night, and they named me Sin and then sent me to a convent for 10 years to make up for their sins! But it means 'heart' in Chinese [also spelled xin]."

 Tom's step mom was visibly relieved with that last statement. I was dying inside. Tom's step mom put a hand on Sin's shoulder: "You are a beautiful person. And in our family, we love everybody. And I'ma pray for you."

I had to leave the room.

Later that night, Tom, Sin, my brother, and I went to Tom's place in Brooklyn for drinks and some down time. After taking our drink orders, Sin kneeled on a pillow by the coffee table.

Me: "There's room if you wanna sit?"

Sin: "No, I'm fine here. Don't you know I'm Japanese?! We prefer the floor!"

. o O (Good thing I didn't ask if she was a Wondergirls fan.)

A half hour later, we were heading towards the Manhattan Bridge in a cab (because that's how Tom rolls).  Sin started some light flirtation with the cab driver, having a whole conversation about his unusual name that she had somehow converted to "more lays in the city!" about a third of the way across the bridge, she shrieks, "This is a new York cab! Show me what you got! Show me what your working with!" He obviously wasn't paying attention to my cousin's "I don't think we need-". The driver's face lit up as he quickly glanced back at Sin. All I remember is lurching towards one guard rail. Then the other. Then ending up in the middle lane. She was all like "Woooooo!" and we were like "Shiiiiiiit!"

Cabbie: "You want sonme more?!"

Tom: "No, no, no! That's quite alright."

Tom to Sin: "This spot is called APT. Like apartment."

Me: "Oh, wow. I always thought it was ATP, like biology."

Tom: "Like a unit of energy?"

Me: "Don't act like you're not a cool nerd, too! It runs in the damn family."

Tom brought over a tall Asian dude and introduced us. I figured they worked together or something, but Tom said in my ear, "I think this guy was trying to pick me up or something." So he more or less passed him off to the group. He danced with us for a bit before wandering off.

Tom: "If he would have touched my ass one more time, I'da had to fuck him up, man."

Me: "Dude, all you need to do is brush his hand away an give him a stern 'Chill with that!'"

Tom: "I guess..."

Shortly thereafter, Sin came to me and asked me what my 'type' was. I responded, "Vodka."

"Come on, I can find you somebody. "

"I'm really not on the hunt tonight, Sin."

"You don't seem like you're on the hunt. Very mellow." But she just had to hear me say it, "What do you like: tall, short... women, men?"

"I'm into guys!"

"Okay! What color? What ethnicity?!"

"The hot ethnicity! It really doesn't matter." 

After a couple of drinks, we moved on to Gansevoort. There was a line. My cousin talked to the door guy, who said we'd be okay to get in with 3 guys and a girl, but that turned into table service by the time we got to the front (straight night at a straight bar). My brother has forgotten his credit card at APT (plus the girl whose number he had gotten was still there), so he ditched, and we went in.

The place was packed with done-up girls and guys in blazers from their work suits and vertical-striped button-downs. Sin wandered off, and when I came from the bathroom, my cousin was (already!) talking to a black girl and a white girl.

He introduced me. The white girl was nice enough, but the black girl somehow found it appropriate to shake hands without making eye contact. I somehow got out of her that she was visiting from Austin, TX. She had no reaction to my being from South Carolina (usually southerners are glad to find each other).

"I don't even see why this conversation should continue if he's not gonna buy a drink!"

Tom: "Oh, so it's like that? Well I guess everyone has a price, huh? Since we're basically bartering, i'm gonna put my bid in at $3. Will that work, or do you want to go up from there."

"Well, maybe you need to come down south and learn some manners!"

"D. Kareem, how old do you think she is? I'd put her at right about 23 or so."

"No, no, boo-boo, I'm 28. I just prefer to talk to men, not boys."

Now, my cousin can be a straight up asshole, but that only comes out when deserved. I'm not sure how his approach was, but he's a pretty smooth guy and knows how to step to a lady. I'm guessing her friend didn't do the best job at showing her the New York scene, and she was fed up by the time we met her. After she walked away, Tom laughed and said, "She's a black girl in the most pretentious place in the City! Attitude or not, no one's showing her love here! That's just the way it is."

. o O (So it's not just the gays!)

Around 2, my bro texted Tom to get his keys. For some reason, Tom thought my brother was trying to take the girl to Tom's apartment (there was a time when that would have been a definite possibility), but my brother was ready to crash. Sin had already been summoned, so I took my leave. Did I mention that no one I knew was at Pieces or the Hangar? Yeah.

Click here to check out the last time I went home to see the Fam in South Carolina.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

Sober Moment 7.14.09

On Wednesday last week, I scrolled through my phone to find the guy I had gone home with the night of NYC Pride. I saw a 917 number that I had called at 10:43 and 11:57, both cancelled. . o O (I would have been at XES by 11:57, so it must be Pride Boy’s number (since the only other unidentified call from that night was a 718 number… ew!). But just in case it’s not, I’ll play it a little ambiguously.)

 

Me: Hey, it’s Kareem… From Pride. Remember me? ;-)

I hate emoticons, but I feel like it softens the we-hooked-up-and-I-haven’t-texted-you-a-week-and-a-half blow.

Him: Nah I don’t but whaddup?

. o O (Whaddup? That doesn’t quite sound like Pride Boy)

Me: Ha! This is Pride Boy, right?

Him: No, not Pride Boy my name is adam..

. o O (Shit! Wrong number. But Adam def sounds familiar.)

Me: Oh my. This is awkward. Did you meet a tall black guy with dreds in a ponytail on Pride Sunday? I dialed your number.

Him: D. Kareem [last name]?

Me: That’d be I. I do remember meeting an Adam. How exactly did we meet? I tend to forget things after the 8^th drink.

Him: Yes, I’m Adam Benjamin Irby, the blogger. Lol

Him: I thought it was some booty call. Lol

Me: That makes SO much more sense! Haha!

I really don't remember getting his number... or telling him my last name, but whatevs.

So where the fuck was Pride Boy’s number?! Well, I remembered him saying he promoted for a party (that I’d never been to... in fact, I think it's straight), so I figured his name would be on the website. 

 

I emailed him: Hey, sorry to be uber-creepy (i.e., finding you on Facebook), but I couldn’t find your number, and your google-ability is quite high. Anyway, I’d definitely like to get together again. I’m heading out of town for the weekend, but maybe next week?

 

An hour: no response. 2 hours: no response. In the morning: no response. But around 5:30 the next day, he finally wrote: Of course I remember you. I lost my phone two days later and with it your number. Give me a call when you get back. Would love to hang out as well.

Tipsy text count: 2

Phone calls: 1

Responses from him: 0

In the fabulous words of Kanye: “We go through too much bullshit just to mess with these drunk and hot ‘girls’!”

Drunk And Hot Girls (Ft. Mos Def) - Kanye West

Click here to check out a night of holiday house parties.

what helps spilled alcohol dry most quickly?

I was so late to the NYC Pride parade! An hour and a half wait in Sayville got tacked on to the already laboriously long commute back from Fire Island. After a hassle with my building security to get into my office to drop my stuff off (I’d forgotten my ID on my every-day bag and taken my beach bag), I finally made it to the parade around 3:30. Then there was another 40 minutes of wandering around and trying to figure out how to cross streets (ridiculous crowds and police blockades) before I met up with MicHELLe, TTT, and Don Juan from San Juan across the street from Pieces.

Here’s a sampling of what we saw:

MicHELLe recognized this pierced bear from Folsom Street East before I did.

It was so touching to see kids in the parade! 

I wasn't nearly so educated growing up in South Carolina.

And how could I forget Club Atlantis’s float. Maybe it’s time for me to spend a night in Queens.

After the parade, I met up with SoHo Crush and his friends for a quick drink at Julius’ (huh?) while the boys went to Maracas. SoHo and his boys tried to drag me to the Cubby Hole to make fun of their softball teammate (they left the poor boy staggeringly drunk and in the same bar as his ex of less than a year ago who is now married!), but I opted for Maracas instead. And it’s a good thing, too.

I found the boys at the bar, and close to them was a group of young black guys and an older white guy (who was obviously fucking or trying to fuck any/all of them). In the hour I was there, TTT had made out with two of the black guys, one of whom MicHELLe had been eyeing (it’s rare that MicHELLe goes after a black guy). When TTT went in for the (second) kill, MicHELLe turns exasperated to the white guy and says, “Oh my god, will you please make out with me right now!”

Happy Pride indeed.

We left (very) soon thereafter, and as we were walking down Greenwich Ave, MicHELLe spotted a set of cow-print suitcases outside of a shop. You may not know this, but MicHELLe is a major bagnista. Some guys do shoes. Some guys do tight tshirts with witty sayings. MicHELLe does (mom) bags. So she sees these suitcases and strusts over to grab the largest one and drag it like she’s right on time for her flight to Tahiti with her husband. What she didn’t see was that the set of bags was chained together. She pulled the big one about 6 inches before the other two bags started to fall. She panicked and ran!

I’m in tears as I write this on the train on the way to work. People are staring. Anyway, I almost hit the floor when the shop keeper came out and gave us everything but the angry shaking fist (we were halfway down the block by then).

The next stop was XES for 2-4-1. We met up with the rest of the crew (who was somewhere around 6-4-3) before peacing out for Greenhouse’s open bar. Hey, if we’re gonna be messy, we’re not gonna spend much money doing it!

MicHELLe picked up a stray furry in training along the way.

Has she had her shots?

Speaking of messy, as soon as we jumped on the 1 train, Urban Sprawl pulled out her flask. She opened it, turned it up, and missed her mouth.

Jim. Beam. Everywhere. And what helps spilled alcohol dry most quickly? Pole dancing.

The flask was confiscated. It was quite a ride to Greenhouse.

Word must have gotten out about this Greenhouse party because when we showed up around 10:15, there was a line (I’ve never waited in line for this party). And the bar was predictably crowded when we got downstairs (I figured more people would be upstairs anyway).

As usual, there was a number of costumed club kids.

As I weeded through the crowd after the open bar, I saw a face that looked immediately familiar. Tall, slim, black guy with a hat to the side… well, I just described all of Harlem, but after about a second, I realized it was Adam Benjamin Irby, an acclaimed blogger and web designer who was part of my motivation to start my blog.

“I sometimes comment as ‘The Blackout Blog’!” Perhaps he didn’t remember that moniker from his comments, but if he didn’t, he sure as hell played like he did! It was so great to meet him face-to-face because we’re from pretty different backgrounds, but I had so many moments where I was reading his writings thinking the same thing or seeing myself crack the same one-liner or 90s R&B reference.

< /groupie moment >

Everybody was nice and hammered, and we danced our asses off for the next half hour or so until Bottomless Pitt stormed out of the club.

I texted after her: Where are you going?

Pitt: Barracuda?

Me: Chi Chi’s is 2-4-1 all night.

Me: You really do need to stop drinking by yourself. Other people like drinking with you… sometimes…

Pitt: Chi Chi’s it is… Headed there now babe lol

Me: Stumbling to the train now.

Me: Chi Chi’s if you’re man enough.

Me: Oops, that was for MicHELLe. Crossing 7^th now.

Pitt: Security won’t let me up and I’m trying not to get arrested.

Me: Where?

Me: At Chi Chi’s?

Pitt: Ok, I’m close to xhi xhis

Me: Are you there. Crazy!

Me: ??

Pitt: I can’t cross Houston!! [For reference, Houston is no where near Chi Chi’s. I eventually figured out he meant Hudson.]

Me: XES!

So after we established that we were going to XES, I texted Kunta Kente who was crashing with his boyfriend at a friend's place in the Village. In fact, where they were staying was a block away from where I was at that moment, so I went to go urinate pick them up. Text. Another text. Call. Voicemail. Another call. Another text. I was literally dancing by the time they came waltzing down the stairs. 

“Oh, I don’t have my phone on me... oops!”

The walked me back up so I could pee (lines were CRAZY for bathrooms all day!), and then came the (not-so-much) shocker: “Well, how far is this place. We probably shouldn’t be out for more than an hour or so.”

. o O (You mean to tell me this is your first time in NYC in 2 years, and you’re imposing a curfew?!)

“It’s like 20 blocks away in Chelsea.”

“I don’t know. We probably shouldn’t leave the neighborhood.”

“That’s like a $5 cab ride from here! If that!”

“Yeah, I might need to think about that.”

“Well, look: it’s called XES. 24^th between 6^th and 7^th. Text me if you’re coming, okay?”

“Okay.”

As much as I wanted to hang, Pride only comes once a year! And Bottomless Pitt was waiting on me.

Then my phone died.

By some chance, I caught up with Bottomless Pitt walking up 7^th avenue, and we continued our quest to XES. From what I remember, Peppermint was there, but there was no karaoke. I do remember pop music. And I remember running into a cute guy who could sing who had a tall friend.

“I live at 125^th, but I can’t host—“

“That’s cool. I live right above you.”

“Where?”

“Washington Heights. We can take the A or the 1.”

“I really want to; believe me. But I don’t like to go home with a guy on the first night…”

That’s real nice, hun. That’s. Real. Nice.

Did I mention that as he and I walked west, Bottomless Pitt and his tall friend walked east? *High fives Bottomless Pitt* Yeah!

Click here to check out my (very wet) NYC Pride '08 experience.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

a very crowded Low Tea

I arrived at Penn Station just after the 10:45 call time on the Facebook invite for our first beach trip of the '09 season. Most of the usual suspects weren’t available, but Urban Sprawl had recruited a couple of gays that don’t usually hang with us. At 11:10, we left on the Babylon train, and the Queens Gays met us at Jamaica station on the way to Freeport.

Kunta Kente, a guy who went from a random hookup at Gay Pride 3 years ago to a semi-boyfriend for the rest of the summer before he moved back to New England to get his 3^rd Ivy League Degree (class of ’03), was supposed to be coming with his boyfriend. He had emailed Urban Sprawl and me that he couldn’t bear to get more than 2 nights of less than 9 hours of sleep (such a familiar response), so they’d be joining us later.  My response: That’s real nice, hun. That’s. Real. Nice.

The beach was pretty uneventful. We joked, we drank, we got dirty looks from our neighbors. A hairy silver daddy asked us to watch his stuff at one point.

Around 3:30 or so, dark clouds started to gather. No one really paid attention until we could see the actual downpour from the clouds, and the system looked like it was moving our way. We started packing up our shit, but we realized Urban Sprawl and a few others had gone for a jog.

“A jog?! Weren’t they just drinking?! I hope their stuff doesn’t get wet before they get back!”

Okay, I’m not that cruel. I started throwing their stuff into bags (with no help from anyone else, I might add) to carry back with us, but they eventually showed up. The storm passed us by, leaving us dry but with no sun. I was over it.

Of course, right as we got to the changing station, Kunta Kente called to say they made it. We briefly saw each other before half the boys left for the LIRR and the other half camped out in the straight section of the beach (?!). I went to the train as well, but I was headed east: to FiPi.

Waiting for our trains, we spotted some girls who had left the beach but were determined to take advantage of the returning sun.

This is the level of class I expect to see from a Long Island Lady.

Train, train, ferry, ferry, arrival at the Fire Island Pines. The Long Island Gays had gotten a house and had actually extended me an overnight visit. For those of you not familiar with the scene, FiPi gays are very… let’s say selective about who can spend a night in their houses. Luckily, everyone in the house was already friends, so there was much less who-invited-her factor to deal with. And of course, I brought a bottle of vodka (an actual bottle, not a Gatorade bottle) to show my appreciation.

I passed them on the Boardwalk because no one could wait for me to drop off my stuff at the house (hey, I understand… Low Tea only happens once a day), and they gave me directions. They were literally about 5 houses down from the Architect (which meant they were close to the end of civilization).

I dropped off my stuff and joined everyone at a very crowded Low Tea. Everyone seemed to have beers in their hands. . o O (Did you guys not just leave a house full of liquor? Pre-game or pack a Gatorade bottle, dude!) Then the poppers came out. Yes, half the girls around me were sniffing poppers on the dance floor and giggling like crazy about it. It was actually kind of funny because it was more of a point-at-yourself-and-say-WTF type of situation.

At high tea, whom do I see? Calipornia! We talked for a bit, but she was soon distracted by a future brunch story for the housemates.

I also ran into a friend of Duplex’s. A very sexy friend of Duplex’s (all of his friends are hot!). A very flirty friend of Duplex’s. When I left with the boys for dinner, I could have sworn he was aiming for my mouth with his goodbye kiss.

So, the thing about having a housemate with a body like Daredevil’s is that he wears speedos all the time. For example, he helped prepare dinner in appropriately predicable attire.

After an excellent pasta that one of the Long Island Gays made for us (that I couldn’t eat because it was covered in cheese… thank god for the leftover hamburgers from lunch!), a few people passed out on the living room couches for a half hour before Britney and Lady Gaga blasted from the speakers and liquor poured from the bottles. After some pre-gaming on the rooftop ("Oh my god: STARS!"), we headed back out to the Britney party at the Pavilion, which started at midnight. Of course when we got there around 12:15, no one was there, so we did Sip N' Twirl for a while beforehand.

By the time we finally made it to the Pavilion, it was all a mess. And the boys were having way too much fun with the rainbow feather boa.

Thank god it wasn't double dutch!

I tried to get this guy jumping rope: 

Shutter went off too late!

But I ended up with this all this in the frame. 

And then I went to the bathroom.

I stumbled back to the house to find a particular Long Island Gay in the hot tub. It’d been a whole 4 weekends since my last hot tub adventure, so I figured I may as well take advantage. As I was lounging with the crew who had messed up their sleeping pattern by napping for 3-4 hours after dinner, I noticed our culinarily gifted Long Island Gay walking an unrecognized guy to the front door. Apparently the Long Island Gay was a notorious bottom, but this time, he had topped! After I cut through their room to use the shower (not he ideal set-up, but hey, these guys aren't in their 40s yet!), I found the, er, proof in the toilet.

No, I didn’t take a picture!

I had no idea what the sleeping arrangements were, but I’d’ve loved to know at the time that I could have basically had ASFKAB’s bed since he was out til sunrise.

The next day, I woke up before my 10:15 alarm. After a refreshing screwdriver, I ran out of the house (literally) to catch the 10:50 ferry to the LIRR. I figured it would put me in the city around 1:30 or so for Pride. 

Did I mention I’d caught the ferry that doesn’t match up with the train, so I  had to wait almost an hour and a half at the station?! Yeah.

To check out a Fire Island adventure from last year, click here.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

*mostly because I had already taken off my pants, so I had neither my camera nor my phone with me.

a "tight ass", which purposely left itself open

Z of Z Reveals invited me to his birthday party on a Friday, but I started the night out at a house party in Harlem. I was hoping to bring Bottomless Pitt and the Puertopean, but the host showed concern about additional guests (no surprise since I met him on a trip to Fire Island). I had already responded as attending, and I don't like to flake. So once again, I broke my rule about attending parties where I only know the host.

When I showed up, he asked, "where are your friends?"

"I thought you said you didn't have room! I told them I'd meet them later."

The glass of rum punch he handed me made me feel better. Until I found out the rum was 151!

I was about 20 minutes late to meet Bottomless Pitt and the Puertopean in Hell’s Kitchen. When we buzzed the door, no one answered! A separate group of gays showed up not long after we did, and we buzzed for a good 5 minutes before someone finally pressed the damn button. When I got upstairs, I realized why: it was a very well attended party!

The theme was tank tops, and 90% of the guys had their arms out. Z had provided sailor hats for entertainment and bartenders for gawking. The theme drink of the night was called a "tight ass", which purposely left itself open to all kinds of bad puns.

 

The one guy who talked to us in the first half hour of our arrival was a cute young-ish guy with a hot older muscle-bear boyfriend. He was quite friendly and engaged us for a while, but it wasn't long before both the Puetopean and Bottomless Pitt ditched.

Not long after, a dark-skinned, well-built hairy guy struck up a convo with me. At one point, I asked him where he was from.

"Can you guess?"

"No, I can't. Where?"

"Come on! Try!"

. o O (I really hate this game.)

"Fine... Israel... Turkey... is it in Asia? United Arab Emirates?"

He was from India. (Shut up! It was dark!)

We talked for a good half hour. He even made some overt physical contact, but I definitely noticed his eyes wandering and the conversation waning. About 20 minutes in, I got the inevitable “Well, it was good talking to you.”

. o O (WTF? He seemed into me? What did I do?!)

Well, once the party started to clear out, he struck up a convo with me again. And his words were much more slurred (score!... hopefully). He showed interest in dancing, so I led the way to Posh.

Of course, I had to pee when we arrived. Should I leave this hot drunk gay guy in a tank top (easy target) alone to go relieve my bladder? Best believe that’s what I did!

But there was a line.

He was where I left him when I got back to the dance floor, and we got into some fun grinding. I got a bit hopeful, but something about me is always skeptical of drunk, attractive gay men. My suspicion proved justified when he gave me the “be right back” and wandered in a direction that was not the bathroom.

 

My phone buzzed at 5 minutes, and I was gone. Did I mention I had to wake up early for a beach trip anyway? Yeah.

Check out the first time I met Z (in person). Click here.

Note: you may find the "Topics of Discussion" on the right and the  Cast of Characters to be of help in navigating this blog.

DR!P was open bar

I'd like to start out by acknowledging the new readers. Welcome! Special shout out to those of you in the middle east (Riyadh, Masquat). I had no idea my words were reaching that far. If you like the blog, tell a friend about it. And COMMENT! One of the best things about blogging for me is interacting with my audience, so if you like something, something isn't clear, etc., comment or shoot an email (click here if you're confused about how to leave a comment).

Remember Frat Boy? Well she quit her job like 2 months ago. She’s got a matter of days before she leaves to live a year in Argentina. Will she find a job? Who knows. Who cares. She just wants to go, and she is going. And people laugh when I say I want to be white (only for a non-summer month… I also want to be blue-black for a month).

Anyway, she ain’t workin’ so she’s been having these pre-parties at her place in the Financial District on Wednesday nights before DR!P, the last one happening the Wednesday before Pride. When I arrived, everyone was already enjoying drinks. At one point, I settled by MicHELLe, who was obsessing over a TSWB at his job (usually he likes the short version, but this one has a British accent!). Somehow, he worked in the fact that he may or may not be into (the idea of) a partner hitting him: “I need to stop with him because he could hate-crime me during sex.”

Time to go!

In honor of Pride, DR!P was open bar for the first hour, so I figured it’d be crazy. Luckily there was no line to get in when we arrived a bit after midnight. I’d totally forgotten about the gold theme.

But Bottomless Pitt hadn’t.

This used to be a tube top. This used to be a "top".

Lady K was in the house.

As was the 7-foot Chandilier.

Petey Pig.

And this guy.

I’m really not sure what was going on here, but I took a picture anyway.

I've heard of shitting glitter, but damn!

I also ran into one of the models from the photo shoot.

All that glisters is not gold.

And once again, Urban Sprawl shows that she’s the face of versatility.

(Not!)

Even better: she was less than a foot away from this sign.

Freak-Ho tests the theory that rubbing your dick on a guys back can get you a blowjob. 

The results from this study may be biased. 

You would think once we were over DR!P, we’d go home. Nope. Bottomless Pitt and I somehow got separated from the others (on the way to Posh) and wound up at Karaoke at the 9th Avenue Saloon. Did I mention the extensively flirty conversation I had with the cutie from my gym who also graduated from a non-Ivy-League school (thank god!)? Yeah.

Click here to check out a rather unusual night in Harlem.

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